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Understanding washed over me. Finally, I saw the man beneath the General's mask—a father whose grief had hardened into something unbreakable.

"We can restore the essence," Aether said quietly. "Without destroying everything in the process."

"There is no other way." Urkin's voice had lost its edge, replaced by something hollow. "I won't let his sacrifice be for nothing."

"Then you'll doom us all." Aether's words carried a weight that made the air feel heavy.

"Listen to what we found," I pressed, stepping closer to his desk. "The King of Sídhe. He's a siphon."

"A what?" Urkin's attention snapped to me.

"Someone who can redirect essence itself," Aether explained, his voice steady. "Pull it from one place and channel it to another. The arcanite towers aren't draining the essence from Umbrathia—they'restoringit."

"Even if what you're saying is true," Urkin's voice was tight, "how does this change anything? The towers still need to be destroyed."

"No," Aether stepped forward. "If we destroy them, all that stored essence will be lost forever. The realm will never recover."

"We have a plan," I added quickly. "A way to potentially restore what's been taken. But we need time?—"

"While Draxon's forces gather?" He shook his head. "Your theories about siphons and stolen essence don't change the fact that you've started a war we can't afford to fight."

I exchanged a glance with Aether. "If war comes to Ravenfell, then we need to be as strong as possible to face the Damphyre." I paused before continuing. "We need our own arcanite. We need to go to Riftdremar."

Urkin went still. "Riftdremar was destroyed."

"The surface, yes," Aether said. "But the mining tunnels could still be intact. And if there's any arcanite left..."

"You want to walk into a wasteland on the chance that something survived the burning?" Urkin's laugh was hollow. "For what purpose?"

I stepped closer to his desk, keeping my voice low. "Because I cancreateessence. Not channel it from the land like a tether, but generate it within myself. If we can find arcanite, I might be able to imbue it. Start replacing what's been stolen."

"You've lost your mind." But there was something else in Urkin's voice now—a crack in his certainty. "Even if you could find arcanite, even if you could somehow restore essence to it, it wouldn't be enough. Not against what we're facing."

"It's a start," Aether said.

For a moment, Urkin looked down, face strained as though we could physically see him coming to terms with what we offered. But just as that realization pulled at his features, he simply looked up.

"I can't allow any of you to leave while Draxon's forces mobilize."

I felt Aether's attention on me now, and I turned to look at him. Something had changed in his expression. We locked eyes for a few seconds, as if he was making a decision, something I wasn'taware of. Finally, his gaze left mine, and he faced Urkin once more.

"I'm afraid you can't command her." Aether's voice carried an edge. "Not anymore."

Urkin's jaw tightened. "She's a member of my unit, under my direct authority?—"

Aether took a step forward. "Tell me, when was the last time Tryggar chose a rider?"

Urkin's face twisted in exasperation. "What does that have to do with?—"

"Nearly half a century, not sincehim," Aether continued, his voice growing harder. "And now, after decades of refusing every soldier who approached, he chooses her."

Something in Urkin's expression shifted.

"Her power alone should have been our first clue." Aether's eyes narrowed. "A Duskbound, appearing from across the rip. When that gift hasn't manifested outside one bloodline for over a century."

My heart thundered in my chest. What was he doing?

"Her appearance is so strikingly different from ours, the white hair, the opalescent eyes, yet she shares our darkened features, our perpetual shadows."